


A Good Year

by Kyoukalay



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: All takes place in france, Alternate Universe, Andrew is their great-uncle, Clive is the sassy assistant, Comedy, Completely seperated from the PL universe, Desmond is the problematic gay brother, Emmy is french, F/M, Hershel is a lawyer, Its a slow story so be warned, Lots of memories, M/M, Modern Day, Only uses PL characters, Romance, Self-Indulgent, Slice of Life, Some character names are changed to fit the story, Swearing, Will probably up the rating after some chapters, based on a movie, will add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25309570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyoukalay/pseuds/Kyoukalay
Summary: Au based on the movie 'A good year'. Hershel works at a law firm and is extremely unhappy, although rich. His smarts and quick wits earn him a top spot at the office, but he feels like he is always missing something in life. One day, he receives a letter that his great-uncle in France has passed away, leaving Hershel his only possession; his estate. The land and mansion on it is very old and pretty big with a large vineyard attached to it. Hershel has visited in the summers as a child, but he never expected to revisit. He plans on selling the estate, seeing as he could make a pretty penny out of it. When he visits, his memories come flooding back.
Relationships: Anton Herzen/Sophia, Emmy Altava/Hershel Layton
Comments: 24
Kudos: 10





	1. Andrew

The cold rains of London pitter pattered against the window. The dreary outlook combined with the stale inside of the firm only brought his mood down like it always did. He turned in his chair, hoping to find any form of relief through a resolved case or insignificant win. The laptop in front of him read numbers, case files and victims that could easily be exploited. It was the life he chose; the life he wanted, or so at least he thought. The life of riches, intellectual stimulation and freedom to act as he desired. It might have made him cocky, but he didn’t care.

‘’Knock knock.’’ 

Hershel looked up from his desk with an unamused expression, not ready for the hurricane that was Clive Dove.

‘’Ready for the day monsieur sourface?’’ 

‘’As ready as ever.’’ Hershel sighed.

He grabbed his suitcase and tracked behind Clive into the office. 

‘’So, I have several interesting little facts for you this morning. One, the prime minister has tried to make a claim on the Rousseau case, but as you said last week, he has no basis for the claim and will lose, which will get us sooo much money.’’ Clive gloated.

Hershel hummed in response, already aware of said ‘’news’’. He had predicted that outcome weeks ago.

‘’Next up, Rosetta from accounting still very much wants you between her legs.’’

‘’Noted.’’ he replied calmly, pressing down the urge to sigh and roll his eyes.

‘’And finally, your mail.’’ Clive finished their walk around the office to guide the man inside one of the conference rooms. 

He placed the mail onto the table and pulled a chair back for Hershel to sit down.

‘’Mister Delmona will be in shortly. Will that be all my liege?’’ he joked.

‘’Very much so.’’ Hershel waved him away with his hand without even looking in his direction.

Clive closed the door and turned around with a frown.

‘’Asshole.’’ he mumbled.

Hershel on the other side was well aware of Clive's disdain towards him, but yet again, he didn’t care. He shuffled through the envelopes on the table with much disinterest. There were a few letters from parties on the other end that send death threats his way, a few thank you notes from his side and more uninteresting things. He was about to throw them all in the trash bin, when he noticed one envelope at the bottom of the stack that stood out from the rest of them. The colouring was strange. It almost looked old with the yellow-ish tint and the seal was stamped down with a familiar symbol. He threw the rest out and sat back down to grab the letter opener on the table. With a flick of the wrist, the top of the paper slit open. A strong cologne that could only be described as an aged man perpetrated Hershel’s nostrils. His heartbeat picked up as he felt like the scent was familiar in a way. He quickly unfolded the letter and started reading the calligraphy inside. After he finished the entire letter, Hershel leaned back in his chair.

‘’Oh Andrew…’’ he mumbled.

A strange feeling appeared where a comfortable emotional void had been settling. He was never the kind of person to cry quickly and he still wouldn’t now, but the ache that was sorrow was definitely prominent. He folded the letter back into the envelope just in time as Delmona walked into the room.

‘’Hershel! Good to see you my boy.’’ the man said joyfully.

Hershel had almost lost himself to the letter, but quickly got up to shake the man’s hand nonetheless. Delmona was the head of the company, who Hershel spoke to on a regular basis. His boss always told him that his cold approach reminded him of himself when he was younger. Hershel had been gunning for his spot at the top, willing to do whatever it took to claim it. Delmona had made clear that this was already known to him, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

‘’So, I bring news.’’ Delmona said after taking a sip from his tea.

‘’ _You_ have news? That is surprising seeing as you usually just play golf this time of year.’’

Delmona laughed wholeheartedly at his joke before turning to a slightly grim expression.

‘’It’s about my health.’’

Hershel put his own cup down on the table and frowned.

‘’You see Hershel, I think the time has finally come where you are able to take that top spot you’ve always wanted.’’

Hershel didn’t know what to say. First the news from his uncle and now this…

‘’Don’t get your hopes up just yet. It might still take a couple of weeks, but I wanted you to know that the spot is yours if you want it.’’

It was a lot to take in.

‘’Think about it.’’

Delmona soon left the room after that, leaving but a conflicted man.


	2. France

The plane ride over was uncomfortable but quick. Hershel rubbed his sore neck as he looked around for the rental car that supposedly was made ready for him for his stay in France for the time being. He glanced around the parking lot and found a tiny smart car that seemed like it would crumble if you were to kick it. He walked up to it and found a note with a small envelope attached to the window.

_[To Hershel Layton,_

_Yep. This is all I could rent._

_Forever yours,_

_Clive Dove._ _]_

He sighed and put the letter in his side pocket. The envelope contained the keys and a small map of the area. Even if his assistant liked to torture him so, he was at least efficient enough. He moved his things in the back of the car and rolled up his sleeves. The weather was pleasant, although a tad warm. He looked up at the sky one last time before getting in the tiny trap; The sky a vibrant blue, reminiscent of the summers he spent here. The car started with a low rumble and a few other sounds he didn’t dare to inspect. The roads through the countryside of France were narrow and hard to navigate. 

‘’Where on earth...’’ Hershel mumbled as he tried to make do with the excruciatingly small map his assistant had chosen to bestow upon him.

He didn’t have much time to get to his destination. The appraiser was supposed to meet with him about an hour after his flight had arrived. Unfortunately due to some technical difficulties, Hershel found himself 1,5 hour behind schedule. He tried to withhold a cuss, as he tried to place the map onto his dashboard and squinted down at the small areas and town names. He hadn’t visited in so long, he certainly didn’t remember how to get to Andrew’s estate. Unfortunately, his struggle with the map meant that he didn’t have his eyes on the road. His car slanted to the side of the road at an enormous speed. An approaching cyclist watched the citroën speed at her with a vengeance. She swayed to the side and tumbled into the grass ditch next to the road.

‘’Hey !’’ she called out after him, but he never responded. ‘’Putain d'étrangers.’’ (bloody foreigners)

Hershel looked up from his map and quickly adjusted the car to the right course. He had no idea what just happened, nor had he heard the lady call out; A butterfly effect waiting to happen. After some time, he finally arrived at his destination. The gates to the estate were thankfully open still, probably opened by the appraiser, who had been sent a key. He could only hope the person was still there. He quickly parked his car and ran out. When he exited, the picture of a beautiful french mansion came into view. Hershel needed a moment to take it all in. The olive vines scattered over the beige coloured walls; the rounded doors accented with beautiful stained glass; the sand and gravel under his feet that reminded him of all the times he scraped his knees, the tilted roof; the giant oak trees flourishing over the entrance, protecting the house from the heat and the light from the summer sun. He breathed in the familiar summer breeze and closed his eyes; goosebumps trailing his skin. How he had missed this. He wondered how he could’ve forgotten about this place. He suddenly realised he was here with a mission.

‘’Hello?’’ he called out, his hands cupped around his mouth. 

No answer. He walked around the front part of the mansion and felt like he was entering his youth. There, by the edge of the yard, he could see himself as a child reading in the hammock. And there, by the pool, he could see himself jump in after his brother. He smiled a small smile, memories of golden times resurfacing from a place deep within. He continued to walk through the garden and spotted a broken down tennis field. He closed his eyes and could hear the balls being tossed around. A voice called out of an older gentleman, urging a young lad to keep moving.

_‘’Come on Hershel, you can do better than that!’’_

_‘’You know I can’t! I only have little legs, it’s not fair!’’_

_The boy threw his racket to the ground in anger._

_‘’Now my boy, you'll come to see that a man learns nothing from winning. The act of losing, however, can elicit great wisdom. Not least of which is how much more enjoyable it is to win. It's inevitable to lose now and again. The trick is not to make a habit of it.’’_

_The boy huffed as he grabbed his racket from the ground, a small smile forming as he hit the ball as far away as possible._

_Schrader laughed and quickly urged the boy to get the ball himself, to which Hershel huffed even harder._

The now 38-year old man smiled as he grabbed one of the ancient tennis rackets from the field. It still felt the same and would probably give him the same splinters yet again. Just like old times. 

‘’Wise words from someone who never lost.’’ he mumbled to himself.

He placed the racket back on the rack next to the field and continued on through the rest of the estate, somewhere in search of the appraiser, another part just curious to see more of his memories of his childhood. To the back of the estate, a large spread of land carried on until a fair distance. Hershel could see the grape vines plugged into the ground just like they always had. Andrew was a vintner. A connoisseur of fine wines, as he put it himself. Hershel never got a taste for it when he was a child, even if he did get to sip it every now and again. He learned to appreciate the art that was wine tasting when he grew older and now understood why it delighted the older gent as much as it did. He wondered if the vineyard was still active today. He remembered mister and misses Cœur and how they always took care of the grapes when he was still small. Sophia and Anton Cœur, a lovely couple that always worked hard. Andrew did not have a single bad word to say about them. 

He walked up the porch where he found a set of chairs, a table, a few magazines, an empty glass with some residue of wine and a cigar. They were all soaked through by the summer rain that must have fallen somewhere in the last couple of days. Hershel walked up to the table and grabbed the wet cigar. He brought it up to his nose and gave it a whiff. The nostalgic smell of his uncle’s clothes sparked in his mind. He always smoked the same cigars, drank the same wine, dabbed on the same cologne and whistled at the same women. The uncle that he had cared for more than his own parents. The uncle he hadn’t visited in over 20 years. He placed the cigar back onto the ashtray and turned to walk inside. The dark hallway that led inside was still tiled with those same tacky ceramics. He brushed his fingers past the cold surface, another memory unveiled in his mind.

_‘’Desmond, I swear you will get us in trouble.’’ Hershel said anxiously._

_‘’Shh! Only if you keep talking.’’ the older of the two returned._

_Desmond had grabbed one of Andrew’s cigars and started lighting it in the dark hallway that separated the house from the garden. He coughed as the smoke entered his lungs; his young body not yet experienced with the phenomenon._

_‘’Hershel? Desmond?’’ the voice of the older man rang through the building. ‘’Where in the dickens are those boys…’’_

_‘’See!!’’ Hershel whispered and started bolting to the back so he could escape._

_Desmond dropped the cigar and quickly followed._

‘’Always the troublemaker.’’ he mumbled.

He continued on into the house, where a musty smell combined with lavender and old coffee met the searching soul. The kitchen that was adjourned to the hallway leading outside, still looked the same as he remembered. He could see lady Sophia clean and cook like always, with the samba on the background as she swayed her hips. He smiled as he remembered the housekeep fondly. He could almost hear the music she used to love. He started tapping his finger on the wood of the countertop in front of the window that looked outside. His shoulders swayed from side to side, his hips following. He turned himself around in a flamboyant turn, the lyrics ‘’down in the land of the rio grande…’’ playing on his lips. Unfortunately for him, the appraiser was standing right behind him.

‘’Ahem.’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the quotes from Andrew are directly from the movie.
> 
> Cœur is the direct translation from Herzen to french.


	3. The Vineyard

‘’Bonjour mister...Layton I presume?’’ he said with a pretty strong french accent.

‘’Ah, yes. Pardon my tardiness. My..uhm...flight got delayed, mister…?’’

‘’Henri Ledore.’’ the man in a blue coat and small goatee shook his hand. ‘’It is no problem. I have walked around Château de Folsense myself for the first assessment. I would like to take a look at the vineyard as well. If that is alright with you of course.’’

‘’Certainly.’’

Hershel beckoned him to the hallway that led outside. The appraiser followed, checking every detail on his way over and writing it in his notebook. Hershel could only hope that the place was worth anything. Right now the only thing on his mind was to sell the place, get back to London and get rid of Delmona as quickly as possible. Once they entered the vineyard, the smell of soil and fresh leaves overtook their senses. The vineyard was even more impressive up close; The small trees stretched on for miles on end. Hershel had no idea how someone would take care of this place without a ton of workers. After a walk around, the appraiser dipped down to one of the stems to inspect it up close. He took his sweet time, making Hershel wiggle around on the ball of his feet. 

‘’Hm.’’ Ledore hummed every now and again as he scribbled in his all important notepad.

‘’So, what do you think? Any good?’’

‘’Hm.’’ he hummed again.

Hershel squatted down and took hold on a sad looking leaf.

‘’The ground...it’s shit.’’

‘’I beg your pardon?’’ Hershel returned, his unamused sentiment clear on his face.

Henri grabbed some of the dirt surrounding the stalks and held it up to Hershel’s nose, who quickly recoiled at the smell. It indeed smelled like shit.

‘’It’s manure. To help them grow.’’ a new voice entered the scene.

Hershel got up and turned to look at the source of the voice. Behind him stood an older man with much greyer hair than he remembered. His nose had gotten sharper and his wrinkles deeper. The same telltale frown plastered on his face. This could be none other than Anton Cœur, the _actual_ caretaker of the land. 

_Andrew and young Hershel were sitting on the porch under the parasol in the shade. Uncle Andrew was sipping on a glass of his own wine, while little Hershel made due with his apple juice that Sophia had made ready for him. They looked out over the vineyard, enjoying their leisurely afternoon._

_‘’Hershel, have I told you why I enjoy making wine so much?’’ he suddenly asked, breaking the comfortable silence._

_‘’You don't make the wine, Uncle Andrew - that guy Anton does.’’_

_Andrew laughed at the quick witted response and raised his glass to swirl the drink around._

_‘’In France it's always the landowner who makes the wine, even though he does nothing more than supervise with binoculars from the comfort of his study. No, I enjoy making wine, because this sublime nectar is quite simply incapable of lying. Picked too early, picked too late, it matters not - the wine will always whisper into your mouth with complete, unabashed honesty every time you take a sip.’’_

That was the power that flowed through Anton’s fingers. To create the truth. 

‘’Anton?’’ he said carefully, unaware if the man would recognize him at all.

Anton turned up his nose and crossed his arms.

‘’Hershel.’’

So he did recognize him. He wasn’t sure what the cold attitude was for, but he knew to be cautious around the grumpy man.

‘’On dirait que mon travail ici est terminé.’’ (Seems like my work here is done) Ledore sighed and got up from his position.

‘’I’m sorry?’’ Hershel asked.

Henry offered him a note and a nod, and walked off into the opposite direction towards the gate. Hershel looked down and read the note, which said the following: ‘Expect an answer by thursday. We will be in touch.’

‘’Thursday...that’s five days.’’ Hershel sighed, his hopes of returning to London quickly fading away.

‘’Hmhm.’’ Anton grinned and started to walk to some place else.

Hershel truly didn’t know what was up with the man, but it seemed like he was enjoying his misfortune. He sighed and started to make his way back to the mansion to retrieve his things and get settled in. He might as well enjoy these few days off before returning to his intensive job. It had been over a year since he took a proper break. Not that he had anything else going on besides work. 


	4. The Pool

He ran through the yard and stopped in his tracks as he rushed by the pool. The once beautiful clear water had been completely drained, leaving only a few piles of dirt, leaves and emptiness where summer cheer once took place. The blue diving board that stretched out over the edge looked withered but not unusable. Hershel hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should indulge in his child-like itch. He decided to give it a shot. There was no one around and nothing to do. After he had gotten his things, what else was there?

He walked up to the board and carefully stepped on. In front of him, a boy around 13 years of age with scruffy brown hair and red swimming trunks raced up to the tip and jumped into the refreshing water; his cannonball splashing those sunbathing to the side. How often he would spend his afternoons here. If not in the water searching for treasure on the bottom of the pool; to the side to read or try some of Uncle Andrew’s puzzle’s. He carefully continued on to the tip and smiled a child-ish smile when the board seemed to manage his weight. He went one step further and tested the strength of the wood by jumping slightly. Unfortunately for him...this was apparently too much. The board broke, causing the man to fall dramatically into the deep pool, right onto his face.

‘’Aaa!’’

He sat up, trying to gather his thoughts and rubbed his sore head. With all things combined, _this_ had to happen as well? Couldn’t he just have a few nice moments in his life? He stood up and dusted himself off. His white blouse had become completely stained, much to his annoyance. He looked around to look for the ladder. He turned and turned several rounds through the pool, never finding the staircase he desperately needed.

‘’Andrew was...never as much for safety.’’ he grumbled.

He walked to the edge of the pool, onto a pile of dirt, and jumped to reach for the edge. But unfortunately, he realised quick enough that he was nowhere close to reaching the rim. He moved to the other side, braced himself and ran across the pool for a head start. A jump, a reach out, another fall onto his back. His face contorted to a scowl that he had hidden away for decades. He retried his attempt again and again, falling to his doom every single time. After a minute or fifteen of moping on one of the piles of dirt, he realised that he could call someone! He reached down into his pocket...and his other pocket...his back pockets…nothing.

‘’Why?’’ Hershel sighed exasperated with his arms in the air.

He looked around thinking that he might have dropped it during one of his falls, when a certain familiar ringtone caught his attention. He looked up, to find the darn thing hanging dangerously close to the edge. Hershel turned in circles to look around in the hope of finding something long to catch the phone. After some digging through the dirt and a little triumphant ‘ah!’, he found a stick long enough that would suit his needs. The phone was still ringing urgently. He had no idea who it could be, but it seemed like they really needed his attention. He stood up on his tippy toes and reached the stick out as far as possible. The tip of the stick nudged the phone up, giving the man hope for his future. Unfortunately for him once again, the vibrations of the ringing caused the phone to slip to the other side, making it impossible to reach.

‘’No…’’ he cried.

He dropped the stick and accepted his defeat.

* * *

_Meanwhile_

A certain mademoiselle with wavy brown hair, a bruised bum and fire in her dark eyes walked up to the gates of Château de Folsense.

‘’C’est cette voiture qui…’’ she mumbled as she looked angrily at a little green smart car parked in front of the beautiful mansion. (That’s the car that...)

She looked around and sighed. She had not visited this place in so long...but it felt like only yesterday. She shook her head and pinched the bridge between her eyebrows. She had to focus.

‘’Maintenant, où est cet idiot.’’ (Now, where is that idiot.)

She walked up to the front door and gave it a sturdy knock. 

‘’Y a-t-il quelqu’un ?’’ she called. (Is anyone there?)

No response. She walked to the side of the house, where a familiar path lay to the garden. She didn’t want to just march in like that, but she also didn’t want to let this go. That’s not the type of person she was. She was about to turn around and try the door again, when she heard a yell coming from the backyard followed by a grunt. From the sound of it, a man struggling to get something done, like always. She decided to take a look. Who knows, she might find the person she was looking for. As she made her way through the luscious garden, albeit a tad overgrown, she found a memory as she glanced over to the edge of the pool.

_‘’Why don’t you join my nephew at the pool dear, while I show your mother around.’’ an older gentleman with scruffy beard and kind eyes said while beckoning over to the pool._

_She had not been able to swim in a pool like this in some time so the offer was tantalizing._

_‘’Go on.’’ her mother urged, a sly glint in her eyes._

_The older man placed his arm over her mother’s shoulder and started talking about wine or something of the sort. The girl didn’t care. She started walking to the pool and inhaled the scent of chlorine. On the grass, close to the edge, a boy with scruffy brown hair that must have been the older man’s nephew, seemed to be completely enthralled by his book. The girl estimated him around her age, if not slightly older. It annoyed her a little that he didn’t even glance her way. She slowly started undressing herself, ready to get his attention. Once she had dressed down to her underwear, she noticed a shy boy angle his head in her direction. She had to suppress the urge to smirk and opted to gracefully dive into the water instead. She swam up to him, a plan forming in her mind. She popped out of the water and kissed him on the lips. His surprised eyes were priceless. She then leaned over next to his ear to whisper…_

‘’Argh!’’ a cry abruptly shook her out of her memory.

She moved closer to the pool, where a man trashed around on his back in the middle of the dry pool.

‘’Qu’est ce que tu fais ?’’ she called. (what are you doing?)

* * *

The distressed, now almost completely turned to dirt, man, angled his head up to the sound of the voice. Above him, a vision appeared almost unreal. He had to keep himself from gulping as his eyes travelled up her body to take it all in. The sun behind her, covered her appearance in a soft halo. Her brown locks bounced as gently as her half-long yellow skirt, which danced around tanned legs. Her expression looked annoyed yet amused; her arms crossed over the other.

‘’Hello.’’ he quickly got up and called out with a wave of the hand. ‘’Oh no, don't worry about me. I'm...I'm the pool man. I do this every Sunday, it's just routine maintenance. 

‘’Aha. English.’’ she sighed.

‘’Yes well...It's been lovely chatting to you. And, and you are a spectacular vision…’’

The girl rolled her eyes and smiled a small smile.

‘’Any...uhm...chance for a rope or a ladder?’’

His last hope.

‘’Is that your car? The one in front of the house?’’ she asked.

‘’Uh, yes. I'm the temporary custodian of the lime green roller skate, but it's a hired car, a rental. It's not for sale.’’ he joked.

The lady marched off to the opposite direction with a laugh.

‘’E-excuse me!’’ Hershel called out after her, his hope slowly dissolving.

A strange sound gurgled through one of the small holes on the sides of the pool. Hershel raised his eyebrows as he moved his face closer to one of the holes. Lady luck decided to spit on the man one last time as a strong stream of water emerged from the hole, spouting right into his face with such force that he fell back again. The water spouted from all the holes, slowly filling up the pool in the process. Hershel fought back at first, but eventually accepted his fate. After a minute or two, he could already float on his back through the cold water.

‘’What is it, Major Lawrence, that attracts you, personally, to the desert?... It's clean. I like it because it's clean!’’ he amused himself in the meantime, as he made a few backstroke through the pool.

The pool was almost completely filled up to the brim, when the yets stopped pumping in the water. Hershel grabbed onto one of the edges and pushed himself out. His mysterious benefactor, long gone.


	5. Memories

After his wet adventure, Hershel walked inside with his clothes stuck to his skin. Even if it was all rather unfortunate, it still felt refreshing in a way. Like a clean slate. A new beginning. Although he would laugh if someone were to tell him something so poetic. He started drying himself off with a dusty kitchen towel and looked outside to the last rays of sun settling on the horizon. He  _ should  _ be grateful that the devilish angel he met before even considered ‘’helping’’ him at all, otherwise he would still be at the bottom of said pool to spend the night. But right now, all he could do was grumble at her choice of assistance. The phone he had tried to reach so meticulously before, seemed to thankfully still be of service. The towel was resting lazily on his head as he diverted his attention to the little screen. He had 5 missed calls and several text messages from Clive, who for some reason  _ really  _ needed his attention. Hershel supposed that he at least could let his assistant know that he would be spending the rest of the week here. He sighed as he mentally prepared himself before dialing the number. The tone staggered for a moment, before connecting to the british side.

‘’Oh bloody hell. Finally he graces us with a smidge of attention.’’ Clive said on the other end with clear irritation lining his voice.

‘’Sorry I was...er...busy.’’ Hershel wasn’t sure how to explain his recent predicament.

‘’Sure, Sure. ''Busy''. Well, I called to tell you that your rival Paul is sucking up to Delmona like there is no tomorrow. He wants your spot! It looks like he will get the Rousseau case. Can you believe it!?’’

Hershel smirked a little at his assistant’s care. 

‘’I don’t know what you’re doing over there, besides shagging french chicks, but I propose you get your ass back here as soon as possible.’’ Clive continued.

‘’Won’t do unfortunately.’’ Hershel replied.

‘’What…? What do you mean!’’

‘’I can’t. Appraiser told me to wait until thursday.’’

It sounded like Clive was throwing away his phone across the room. Hershel chuckled at the rage he could pull out of him. The phone was picked up quicker than he expected.

‘’Hershel, is that you?’’ the voice of Paul Donello could be heard.

‘’Paul. What a coincidence.’’ Hershel said with a sly smirk.

Just the person he hoped for.

‘’Oh?’’

‘’Some piece of advice from titan to titan; switch parties and support the prime minister on the case.’’

‘’You’re saying I can take the Rousseau case then?’’

‘’I can’t take it at the moment. Family matters, you understand.’’

‘’But of course! I would be honored. Your assistant seems like he wants his phone back. Tata!’’

‘’Clever.’’ Clive’s voice returned. ‘’So any other brilliant advice for me in the meantime?’’

‘’I'll give you a tip Clive. Never pat a burning dog.’’

Clive sighed deeply, almost ready to chuck his phone again.

‘’Take a few days off on me.’’ Hershel chuckled and ended the call.

He deserved it. 

‘’Hershel?’’

The man turned around, the towel falling back on his shoulders. Behind him at the entrance of the kitchen, an older woman with dark purple-ish hair, kind green eyes and the cutest dimples looked at him with her mouth agape.

‘’Sophia?’’

‘’Je n'arrive pas à y croire ! Regarde comme tu as grandi !’’ she cried and quickly approached him for a hug. (I can't believe it! Look how big you have grown!)

She moved back and squished his face in between her hands.

‘’You look tired! You need sleep.’’ her kind face changed to a worried one.

‘’I really do.’’ Hershel smiled sheepishly.

‘’Don’t you worry. I will make sure everything is in order tomorrow. For now, you can sleep in your uncle’s bed.’’

‘’Thank you Sophia, you truly are…’’

She pushed him in the direction of the hall by his back and quickly hushed him.

‘’Allez ! To bed you go!’’ she gave him a small slap on the backside.

He moved along and jogged out into the front yard first to collect his things. The obnoxious green buggy reflected its tacky light onto the house, much to his annoyance. He really did not want to be seen with it any longer, but due to his lovely assistant, he didn’t have much choice. Once he grabbed everything, he quickly moved back inside. The stairs leading up creaked angrily with every step, only indicating more harshly how old the mansion really was. The hallway above was dark. Hershel took a moment at the top of the stairs to adjust his eyes, squinting slightly to try to see more clearly. If he remembered correctly, Andrew’s room should be the last door to the right. He walked through, the nostalgic sense once again returning like before. Cries of children playing, Sophia cleaning the bathroom, Anton arguing with Andrew on the balcony, Desmond blocking his way downstairs, a glass shattering, a toy falling. Shades of memories flashing before his eyes.

He placed his belongings down in front of the door and waited for a moment. He was always allowed to go inside Andrew’s room unless he had ladyfolk coming over. Sometimes he was allowed to sit at Andrew’s desk to sign his letters. He was always able to perfectly forge his handwriting, much to his uncle’s delight. He placed his hand on the knob and turned it quietly, somewhere expecting his uncle to invite him in with a warm smile. The inside of the room however, was empty and dark. The sheets of the bed tussled around as if someone had just gotten up. The window opened with the curtains gently rustling inside from the summer breeze. Hershel walked in, the scent of his uncle still strongly present throughout the room. He got his stuff settled in and changed into something more comfortable to sleep in. Once he had gotten ready completely, he sat down on the bed and closed his eyes. 

‘’Andrew…’’ he mumbled.

He grabbed the letter from his bag and laid down on his back with the sheet above his face. He had not read it again after the first time, afraid of what it would do to his emotional state. He stared at the letters without taking them in and sighed. He really needed to read the rest of it.

_ Dear Hershel, _

_ I know it's been many years since we last spoke. But I find myself in a bit of a jam, and I'm afraid I need your help. The thing is, Hershel old boy, I'm dying. I know this because Dr. Karr, my physician, has stopped talking about my health and begun discussing the weather. Convinced that Death, like all tradesmen, would be unable to find my front door, and always having believed wills to be an open invitation to the Reaper, I find myself impelled to impress upon your kindness. I have a daughter. Her name is Flora Reinhold. Sadly, we have never met. Her mother's name is Violet. She was a tour guide at a tiny vineyard in northern California. Hershel, I should like you to find her. And to this end, I would like to leave her what is rightfully hers. I hope this decision doesn't hurt your feelings, and as successful as you are, you don't need it. I hope you understand. Because even in its present state, De Folsense is a place of magic, and it is my heartfelt wish that Flora should share in that magic. I like to think of her here. After all, she and De Folsense are all I leave behind. If you are unable to find her, please do as you like with the estate. I will have no need for it anymore in the horizon that is the afterlife. But only, if you can not find Flora. _

_ Your loving uncle, Andrew Schrader. _

He placed the paper back down onto his chest and stared at the ceiling. He had no clue what to do to find this girl, nor what to do if she ever were to contact him after he had sold the whole of Andrew’s legacy. For now, all he could do was wait and see.


	6. Déjà Vu

‘’...the music is grand...to a samba band and people are carried away with such romance…’’

Hershel awoke with a start, sitting up straight in the mess of sheets that he had entangled around his legs. The gentle sound of an afternoon samba echoed through the hall, indicating that Sophia had returned to help around. He layed back down on the overly soft mattress and sighed with a wry smile while coursing his finger through his morning mane. He had momentarily forgotten where he was. It almost felt like all those years ago during the summer time, when waking up to music such as this was normal and familiar. He still kind of liked it. He glanced over to the clock on the wall, which told him that he had _really_ slept in. 

‘’Good afternoon.’’ he sighed and plopped his head back onto the pillow.

He unwrapped his legs from the blankets and heaved himself out of the bed. Unfortunately for him, this meant meeting face to face with a bunch of angry scorpions.

‘’Aaa!’’ Hershel screamed as he jumped onto the bed. ‘’Sophia!’’

Sophia quickly marched upstairs and into the room, where a half-naked man-child was pointing with great fear at the windowsill.

‘’Mon dieu, did you throw out the lavender?’’ she asked with an amused frown.

‘’I-I thought it was just decoration.’’

When he had settled in the night before, he noticed the pink-ish flowers in the open window. Without much thought, and the prospect of his clothes smelling like lavender, the stoic man had decided to throw the stuff out. Now he regretted it.

‘’It is to protect against the scorpions.’’ Sophia smirked. ‘’As you might be able to tell.’’

She walked up to the window and scooped the little beasties outside without any further thought to it. She must have grown accustomed (and fearless) in all her years here.

‘’Merci.’’ Hershel said awkwardly.

Sophia grabbed the tray of lavender out of the trashcan and put it back on the windowsill.

‘’Come, let’s get you some breakfast.’’

‘’Be down in a minute.’’

Sophia walked out of the room and shut the door, leaving the man to finally breathe out properly. He hopped down to the ground and checked the floor one last time before walking up to the other end of the room. He opened the doors to the dark brown wardrobe to see if Andrew had left behind anything decent. He moved around a few suits of warm colours, a jacket that screamed vacation and several linen pants. 

_On the final summer and the last evening, uncle Andrew brought out two bottles of something delicious. Hershel had slowly started to take a liking to the different wines that his uncle forced him to try. His mother would be furious if she ever found out, but thankfully, both gentlemen knew when to keep their mouth shut._

_‘’I thought, as it's your last night here, it only appropriate that we open something extra special.’’_

_He pushed the two bottles forward, letting the boy choose his own poison._

_‘’Bandol.’’_

_‘’Excellent choice.’’ the older man beamed. ‘’Tempier Bandol, 1969, the kind of wine that'll pickle even the toughest of men. I once saw a Castilian prizefighter collapse in a heap after drinking just a single glass. Perhaps my knee landing squarely in his testicles may have been partly to blame... What was I talking about before?’’_

_‘’You said the importance of a good blue suit can never be overstated.’’ young Hershel said with a small smirk._

_‘’Quite right. A blue suit is the most versatile of accoutrements. More important than the suit itself, is the man who fits it for you. Once you find a good tailor, you must never give his name away - not even under the threat of bodily harm.’’_

The blue suit to the far right side of the cabinet prominently stood out against the rest of his summer repertoire. His eyes rested on it for a moment, wondering what exactly Andrew wore on his last day. After a sigh and a shake of the head, he scooped up a bathrobe and wrapped it around his body, eager to go downstairs for some well deserved tea. Down in the kitchen, the tunes resumed. He rushed down the stairs, the scent of tea, toast and eggs filling his nostrils and making his tummy rumble. He leaned against the doorframe into the kitchen and smiled when he saw Sophia twirl around the room with her hips swaying from side to side. He walked in and grabbed her hand to guide her into a small waltz around the table. Sophia laughed wholeheartedly, happy to see Hershel’s spirits lifted. She broke off their dance and pushed him in the direction of one of the chairs for breakfast.

‘’Silly boy.’’ she laughed and put down a cup of tea.

After a hearty breakfast, which Hershel hadn’t had in quite some time, Sophia continued to clean and fuzz over the now grown man.

‘’So..’’ she mumbled after some time, growing uncharacteristically quiet. ‘’What did Andrew tell you?’’

Hershel put down his cup, unsure how much Sophia knew. 

‘’He wrote me a letter that explained his declining health...shortly afterwards, your message arrived about his...passing.’’

Sophia rested against the counter and sighed.

‘’Andrew was such an enjoyer of life. It is still hard to imagine De Folsense without him.’’

Hershel stayed silent. He wasn’t sure how to bring the news about the possible sale just yet. It seemed like Anton knew, but even he understood how it would affect his wife.

‘’Let’s not put a damper on the good mood! So, Hershel, any plans for today?’’

‘’Yes actually, I was thinking of driving up to Clerris for a look around.’’

_Maybe find a certain french lady that likes to leave men in pools._

‘’Oh lovely!’’ Sophia beamed at him.

Clerris was the town nearby that Andrew had always adored. It was small and provincial, and just right for him. After breakfast and a quick freshen up, Hershel walked into the front yard with a hop in his step. The warm rays of sun greeted him with a stroke over his cheek. He glanced up in between the leaves of the tree and inhaled the summer air. The cursed little Citroën was awaiting him to the side; once again the bitter realisation hit him that this was his only mode of transportation.

‘’I could’ve sworn…’’ he mumbled as he ignored the shopping cart.

He pushed over some overgrown bush and continued past the other side of the mansion. The green on this side was entirely untamed; luscious plants, tiny flowers and lumbering branches marking the cobblestone path which was never really used. He remembered liking to hide here whenever Desmond wanted to play hide and seek. He was still the reigning champion.

‘’There it is.’’ he said to himself, as he spotted a shed not too far from the house.

The wooden shed looked dusty and unused, like most of the house to be fair. Hershel tried the door, which creaked tiredly in response. With some effort and a cough from the inhaled dust, he finally managed to open the door. On the inside, several things caught his attention. The shed wasn’t very big; probably big enough to house a small car (or the lime green lawnmower at the front of the house). He walked in and traced his finger over the top of a book with the title ‘’Death in Venice’’.

_‘’Uncle Andrew, why do you like to read so much?’’ young Hershel asked his uncle, who had his nose buried in yet another book._

_He glanced up, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening from a smile._

_‘’It gives a man the opportunity to mature in a matter of a few hours. You learn, if you are willing to, a little more about the world, some prick’s sentiment about politics, and about yourself.’’_

_‘’I don’t think I’d like that very much.’’ Hershel mumbled._

_‘’Everything matures... eventually. Not even you can stop that my boy.’’_

_‘’Do you think I’d understand that one?’’ Hershel said while pointing to the book Andrew was currently reading._

_‘’Given the title, I don't think you'll be surprised by the ending.’’ the older man laughed._

A ghost of a smile lingered on the now matured man. He had yet to read the book itself, but he remembered that moment so clear. The moment he learned to appreciate the written word. Andrew influenced him more than he cared to admit. He turned around to another thing that had caught his eye. A larger object stood to the left side of the shed with a blanket covering it. When he pulled the blanket off, a lovely Harley-Davidson revealed. 

‘’That’s more like it, you old sod.’’ Hershel grinned.

The ride over to Clerris was all the more pleasant now; Hershel’s ego restored to a tee.


	7. The flames of Clerris

The ride over was nothing less than a pleasant experience. Hershel smiled as the town came into view; his stomach fluttering at the thought of a civil conversation, a breath of culture and the prospects of a fine lady with some half murderous intent. Maybe he could, in some way, enact some revenge. Or maybe ask her out for dinner. Whatever suited her. He parked his motor on the side of a road and looked around to see the town center bustling with energy. Cafes leaked customers on every side, stores open with their salesmen shouting invites and possible sales to be made, the church echoing on the background, birds chirping and street music playing. 

‘’This place hasn’t changed.’’ Hershel mumbled to himself with a fond smile.

He started walking around and taking in the sights. Compared to his younger self, everything seemed smaller. Although the magic of this place would probably rarely cease, he had always enjoyed just looking from afar. After some time, he walked onto a particular busy plaza, which was completely filled with calculated terraces and people enjoying their afternoon snack. In the middle of the plaza splashed about a large fountain, where children ran around screaming in delight. Hershel watched over the square in search of an empty spot. It seemed like an impossible task, until he found a couple of elder men departing two chairs on the side of one of the most popular establishments. He quickly marched over and claimed the spot before anyone else could. Once he had settled in, he grabbed the wine chart to glance at the options. He had yet to try any of De Folsense's wine again after his return, but he figured trying one of the other local delicacies wouldn’t hurt. He looked up in search of a waitress, when one rushing past him quickly found his attention. Her long brown hair, fierce expression and tight bum gave him all the information he needed to figure out that she, in fact, was the benefactor of his predicament the other day. He got up from his spot, a rush of adrenaline filling him. He made his way over to her inside of the restaurant where she worked. There, she had started giving the orders to the barista as received. He leaned against the entrance of the restaurant, hoping to catch her attention. When she finally turned around with a full tray of drinks, she almost tumbled over.

‘’You.’’

‘’Hello there.’’ he grinned.

‘’I'm sorry, I'm too busy to ignore you now.’’ she sighed and quickly rushed past him.

He followed behind her, not satisfied with the answer.

‘’I believe an apology is in order.’’

‘’And why is that? Bonjour!’’ she said in her friendliest tone as she put the drinks down on one of the tables.

‘’You tried to drown me.’’ he said with a grumble.

The woman sharply turned her head with a glare that could kill, huffed and walked to the other side of the terrace, Hershel following behind closely.

‘’And you tried to run me over in your little car.’’

‘’Excuse me?’’

She put some more drinks down, emptying her tray. She turned around, her face red with anger. She put her finger against his chest and pushed him back slightly.

‘’You are the one that drove that stupid little green car like a maniac and because of that, I have this.’’

She lifted up her skirt, turned around and revealed a large bruise on her right butt-cheek. Multiple cheers erupted from the terrace. Hershel could feel his cheeks turn red in return.

‘’What I did yesterday was payback for that. Now leave. I am busy enough as it is. Mcdonalds is in Avignon, fish and chips in Marseille.’’

She marched back inside, somehow forgetting that her ass was showing to the world. The men on the terrace were still shouting and cheering. Hershel wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

‘’She’s fantastic.’’ he mumbled, before retreating back to the estate.

* * *

The sun set early in these parts of france. Hershel returned to De Folsense when the sun had already completely disappeared behind the fields. The day had gone by so fast for once, unlike those dreadfully dreary days back in London that seemed to last forever. He wondered if Sophia was still around. Maybe he could derive some pleasure out of talking about their past, although that would mean bringing up Andrew...and possibly the future of this place. 

‘’ _Better not.’’_ he thought to himself.

He entered the threshold and noticed that the lights were completely off. Sophia must have gone back home. He wondered if she and Anton had talked about him. About what they would say. Surely they had some kind of different opinion on him now than they did all those years ago. Since he hadn’t visited Andrew in so long. Something clattering from nearby shook him out of his daze. He froze in place, listening for any sound. Footsteps. A grunt. More shuffling around. A hushed curse.

Someone was inside. 

Someone who didn’t want to be heard. Hershel swallowed and tried to think of a plan. He could silently slide into the living room and grab something for a makeshift weapon. It sounded like the infiltrator was down in the basement. What would they need there? The wine?

 _‘’Surely this recipe isn’t worth that much?’’_ he thought.

He did exactly as he planned to do and grabbed a lamp to use just in case. He was almost at the top of the stairs, when the voice of the person called out.

‘’Bloody hell Andrew, where is all the good stuff.’’

Hershel released the breath he had been holding and lowered the lamp. Thank god. He knew this person. Although now, another dread settled in. He walked down the stairs and flicked on the switch for the light.

‘’What are you going?’’

A man roughly around his forties turned around with a start, not expecting to find any visitors to his little scavenger hunt. Hershel raised an eyebrow in response, expecting one and only one thing. He was probably drunk.

‘’Hershel! I can’t believe you grabbed that sorry little butt of yours and dragged it all the way down to France!’’ the man returned, his smile wide, his cheeks flushed.

Obviously inebriated. Hershel let out another deep sigh and pinched the bridge between his brows.

‘’Care to explain yourself Desmond?’’

Desmond. His older brother. His partner in crime when they were children. Always thinking of schemes to annoy their uncle Andrew, messing with Sophia and scaring Anton in the fields. They had fun, Hershel wouldn’t dare admit, but right now, as adults, things were different.

‘’Well...you see…’’ Desmond started.

He still looked like a deer in headlights. He was holding several bottles in his arms, crouched down to the floor, his glasses askew and his hair a mess. He finally cleared his throat and stood up straight. Hershel immediately recognized the label on the bottles he was holding. It was the original brand of wine uncle Andrew produced for years. 

‘’Have you tried this? It tastes like absolute piss.’’ he held up one of the bottles with a sly smirk.

‘’No, I haven’t.’’ Hershel sighed while furrowing his brow.

The last thing he needed right now was his big brother ‘’helping out’’. He wanted an explanation and preferably to get him to leave. They didn’t exactly leave each other on good terms the last time they saw each other.

‘’Well, you should. Let’s have a drink Hersh. Together you know, for old times sake.’’

‘’Will you explain to me what you are doing here then?’’ Hershel asked.

‘’Yes. I promise.’’

He could only hope he would keep his promise this time. Hershel grabbed a couple of glasses from nearby and sat down on one of the stools surrounding the wooden table in the middle of the room. The attic was nothing more than a glorified wine cellar, but it would do nicely for a late night chat. Although he would have preferred it more in the company of some with pretty long legs. Desmond opened one of the bottles, sniffed the cork dramatically and poured the red liquid into the two glasses to the brim. He had always had the habit to do so. Still keen on drinking too much. Desmond lifted his glass to clink them together. 

‘’Cheers!’’

Hershel would take no part in such comradery with his estranged brother, and took a sip from the glass. A mistake on his part, since the wine indeed tasted like absolute piss. He struggled to keep the alcoholic beverage down and grimaced.

‘’What is that taste?’’ he mumbled.

‘’No clue. Don’t care.’’ Desmond returned before almost chucking the glass.

Hershel waited a moment for his brother to finish, putting his own glass aside for now.

‘’So...your answer?’’

Desmond’s weary eyes squinted to Hershel. It was obvious that he did not want to talk about it, but Hershel didn’t care.

‘’Fine…’’ he sighed. ‘’I got a letter from Sophia about Andrew. I thought I’d visit one last time.’’

‘’One last time?’’

‘’Well before you sell it of course.’’

‘’I…’’

How did he know? He hadn’t told anyone before.

‘’Oh come on Hershel. Isn’t it obvious? He leaves you to search for his darling daughter and ends it with ‘’If he can’t find my sweet little Flora, he can do with De Folsense as he pleases’’? Give me a break. Knowing you, you haven’t even tried.’’

A small flame ignited in Hershel’s chest. He wasn’t completely sure if it was his anger towards his brother, or the acid burn from the terrible wine.

‘’So, you’re staying then, I presume?’’ he asked, ignoring Desmond’s correct accusation.

‘’Just for a couple of days. Or weeks. Who knows. However long it will take you to sell Andrew’s whole life away.’’

Desmond leaned back on the stool, almost falling off in the process, and sipped the remainder of his wine.


	8. Tuesday

Desmond didn’t seem like a proper conversation partner for the evening, so Hershel decided to retreat to his room for the night. He had grown tired anyway. The guilt of selling the house growing. When the rays of early morning settled in once more, Hershel awoke after a restless night of sleep. The idea that his big brother was here to reprimand him for his decision didn’t sit well, nor did the overall scenario. He was still figuring out a way to tell Sophia, together with the fight that was going to be the talk to Anton. He sighed as he got up from his bed, dressed in one of Andrew’s summer attire, which looked like a bunch of sunflowers had decided to barf all over him, and made his way down stairs. Once there, the empty kitchen greeted him. He had half expected either Sophia or Desmond, but quickly assumed that it was too early for either.

He grabbed the pot of tea and grimaced as he found it to be completely empty. He rummaged through the kitchen drawers in search for the delectable morning beverage, but found none. With a small cry of victory, Hershel managed to crab an old tin he recognized as uncle Andrew’s favourite tea can, in the far back on one of the shelves. The only thing he found inside however, was a dead fly. With lost hope and no need for anything else at the moment, Hershel moved on to the terrace in search for some fresh morning air. To his surprise, or maybe not really, he found Desmond on one of the lounging chairs besides the pool. 

‘’Just like old times..’’ he mumbled.

He decided to let him sleep for now. He moved on to the vineyard, wondering if Anton would be there already. The sun had barely peaked after all. But, to be honest, hershel had no idea what the job of a vigneron entailed anyway. Did he need to rise early? Or was it more of a sleep in kind of job? He would soon find out. He walked through the trees, letting his fingers caress the green. The smell was absolutely enthralling in the morning; a gentle dew activating the pores of the leaves. He breathed in deeply, noting a mix of manure on the background like previously established. He wondered if it was the reason for the awful taste of the wine he sipped yesterday. Surely uncle Andrew didn’t advocate such terrible wine. There must have been a reason for it. Even in his early days, Hershel didn’t remember trying wine that met his pallet with such a sobering punch as the one he tried yesterday. And that’s saying something for a boy under the legal drinking age.

‘’I see that the sell-out has returned.’’

Hershel looked further down the lines of trees to find none other than the vigneron in question. Anton Cœur.

‘’Anton.’’ Hershel nodded to the older man.

‘’Hershel.’’ Anton said before spitting to the ground.

That was definitively a sign of defiance no matter where you came from.

‘’We need to talk.’’ Anton said.

‘’Alright.’’

He beckoned Hershel to follow him to the other side of the field where they could look over the house. Hershel noticed a melancholy shimmer in the older man’s eyes as he looked at De Folsense.

‘’You plan on selling the house, non?’’

Right to point then.

‘’As a matter of fact, I am.’’

‘’What about Andrew? What about his feelings for this place? _ Your  _ feelings for this place?’’

Hershel wasn’t sure what to tell him. Yes, he definitely had some unresolved feelings and issues with this place. That much he knew after laying eyes on it again after all this time. But...he wasn’t sure what to do with them. With all those memories he held dear.

‘’Just promise me something…’’ Anton interrupted his train of thought.

Hershel turned his gaze from the house to Anton, expecting him to ask for a job or something.

‘’Promise me...you will consider  _ not  _ selling.’’

This surprised him. An easy enough thing to promise however. Especially for a lawyer. He reached his hand out to shake. Anton took it and squeezed tight.

‘’A Frenchman's hand is his word... Concord?’’

‘’An Englishman's word is his bond... Deal.’’

They nodded, let go of each other's hand and walked into the opposite direction.

‘’Frog toss-pot.’’

‘’English prick.’’

* * *

He re-entered the mansion with a sour expression and stopped in his tracks when he heard a knock on the front door.

‘’Great,  _ more  _ visitors.’’ he sighed.

As he marched up to the door, a curiosity inside him sparked. What if it was the enchanting lady from yesterday? Maybe she came to apologize for making a fool out of him. And almost drowning him. That too. He opened the door and felt slightly disappointed when a young girl with big, dark eyes, light brown hair in a ponytail and a slight blush on her cheeks met him. She lifted up a piece of paper in hand and looked like she was very nervous.

‘’Bonjour.’’ she said with an accent that was so obviously not french, that it almost made him laugh.

‘’Bonjour.’’ he returned with a small smile.

‘’V'savez pas...où qu'il est M'sieur Schrader.’’ she said with an awkward smile. (D'you know where he's, m'ter Schrader?)

‘’The only country that issues teeth like that is America.’’

‘’Oh... you speak English.’’ she sighed relieved.

‘’Like a native.’’ Hershel smirked.

‘’Oh great. My french is the worst.’’

‘’I think you did splendidly. Although I must confess, I barely understood what you said.’’

This made the girl giggle, which lifted his mood just a little.

‘’I was trying to say that I am looking for Andrew Schrader.’’

He gave her a look down, coming to the conclusion that she must be just a bit younger than him.

‘’Let’s see, you are very much so too young to be his next catch, too beautiful to be related to him and here too early to be catering. Looking for a job perhaps?’’

Oh how he liked to tease.

‘’I think...I might actually be related to him.’’

The girl handed Hershel a picture. On it, two adults, one which Hershel immediately identified as Andrew, and a woman, sitting on top of the hood of a car with their arms around each other.

‘’That is my mother. I believe...I might be his daughter.’’

The words fell onto him like a pile of bricks. 

‘’What is your name?’’ he asked carefully.

‘’I’m Flora. Flora Reinhold.’’

‘’Oh.’’

‘’Is he here? Has he mentioned me?’’

She was here. His daughter. The girl mentioned in the letter. The girl he was supposed to turn the estate to which he planned on selling. And...she didn’t know. She didn’t know Andrew had…

‘’He...is not here and I’m afraid he hasn’t mentioned you.’’

He lied.

‘’Oh. Do you know when he will come back? I would very much like to talk to him. I have travelled pretty far to get here.’’

He looked behind her and indeed saw that she had a couple of suitcases behind her.

‘’Why don’t you come in?’’ he opted for instead.

‘’Sure! Thank you. Uhm, sorry, and you are?’’

‘’Hershel Layton. I am...Andrew’s nephew.’’

He extended his hand to her to shake it.

‘’That makes us maybe cousins!’’ she screamed gleefully and wrapped her arms around him for a hug.

‘’G-great.’’ he mumbled and patted her on her head.

He guided her inside and went back to retrieve her luggage, his mind racing with panic about what to do. He almost missed the ringing of his phone, which had been going on for a while. He sighed, dropped the suitcase, grabbed his phone and angrily pushed the answering button.

‘’What.’’

‘’Now now darling, that’s not the way to greet your lovely assistant.’’

Hershel sighed and pinched the bridge between his brows.

‘’Clive.’’

‘’How's the house, Hersh? Is it gorgeous?’’

‘’Well, to tell you the truth, Clive, it's a little shabby.’’

‘’We don't say "shabby," Hershel. We say "filled with the patina of a bygone era."

‘’That’s all lovely but may I ask why you are calling me this early in the morning?’’ he replied irritated.

‘’Oof, someone woke up on the wrong side of the gorgeous french mansion with the swimming pool, tennis court and vineyard attached. I am calling you to say that I have arrived.’’

‘’Arrived? Where?’’

A feeling of dread settled in.

‘’In France of course! I’m taking those days on you, like you mentioned before.’’

Hershel dropped the phone to his side and slapped his forehead. Another guest incoming. Great.


	9. Welcome

Hershel ran to the garden with a plan. He couldn’t just leave that girl in the house unattended while he picked up Clive, so he had to wake up the next best thing. His brother. He would’ve asked him to pick his assistant up with his car, but the possibility that there was still alcohol in his blood was more likely than not, so never mind that then. He walked up to where he had last seen Desmond and sighed relieved when he found him still knocked out. Now the next difficult step would be to actually get him to wake up.

‘’Desmond.’’ he said sternly.

Nothing but a loud snore in return. Hershel pinched the bridge between his brows and almost opted to jump right back into the dirty pool next to him. Maybe he could throw Desmond in it for a nice wake up splash, he thought sinisterly. No, not even he would be able to do something so cruel. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders and started shaking him gently.

‘’Desmond please wake up.’’ he tried. ‘’I need your help.’’

Desmond’s eyes shot open and another loud snore escaped his mouth, that almost turned into a choking sound.

‘’ _What._ Did you just say?’’

For someone who had drunkenly fallen asleep on top of a lawn chair in the garden, he spoke rather eloquently. Hershel let go of his shoulders and sighed.

‘’I need your help.’’

‘’Wow. Let me just take a second to make this moment last forever.’’

Desmond closed his eyes and turned his face towards the morning sky with a dramatic frown and a hand on his chest.

‘’My little brother... _actually_ needs my help. I am honored.’’

‘’You done?’’ 

‘’Almost.’’

He sucked in a deep breath one last time before getting up from the chair.

‘’Alright, I have that memory stored away for later to enjoy. What can I do for you Hershey.’’

‘’Please don’t call me that.’’ Hershel grumbled. ‘’There is a girl in the house..’’

Desmond held up his hand to stop him.

‘’No longer interested.’’

‘’Wh-what?’’

‘’You sure it’s not a guy?’’

‘’It’s a girl. A little younger than us and supposedly, maybe, our cousin.’’

‘’Cousin? You mean she might be…?’’

‘’I don’t know. Just, could you please keep an eye on her for a moment? I need to pick someone up from the airport.’’

Hershel was already halfway through the garden, when Desmond called out his name again.

‘’Who are you picking up?’’ he yelled.

Hershel half turned around, opening his mouth to answer, when a little scheme struck him.

‘’It’s my assistant Clive. He’s bisexual by the by.’’

He could’ve sworn Desmond’s eyes started to sparkle. He chuckled as he turned back around, happy to see that it was already working. What he had purposefully omitted was Clive’s age, which was much younger than his dear brother. Surely a turn off when they would meet. Or at least, he hoped. But for now, it would serve as a nice little payback for calling him Hershey. He walked up to the front of the mansion and grimaced when the green tic tac stood proudly under the large oak; leaves already covering it, hopefully, planning to obscure it out of existence. Hershel supposed it _would_ technically be the perfect vehicle to pick up Clive with, since _he_ had been the one to pick it out.

He grabbed the keys inside and hurried along across the french roads he had started to familiarise himself with. This time, no longer distracted to cause any unfortunate (or happy) accidents. The only interesting thing Hershel found on the way, was a group of cyclists who he happily booed out of the way. After a short drive the airport appeared in the distance. Hershel started preparing himself mentally for Clive Dove, who, although quite charming, was 90% annoyance at best. He had taken a liking to him in contrast to every other assistant that was thrown his way, since he was actually able to talk back to him. The others would always just kiss his ass, which Hershel was definitely not a fan off. Clive had something to say from day one, which surprised him at first, but grew fond of quickly. Although he would never tell Clive this. He parked the M&M in front of the empty airport and stepped outside with a huff. Not long after, Clive appeared in the most ghastly hawaiian shirt he had ever laid eyes on.

‘’What on earth are you wearing.’’

‘’Fashion baby. Now what is up with _that_?’’ Clive pointed at the tiny car Hershel was leaning against.

‘’This,’’ Hershel bowed to his assistant. ‘’is the ride you so meticulously choose for me.’’

‘’God. What great taste I yet again poses.’’ Clive smirked.

He placed his suitcase in the trunk and eyed Hershel curiously as he got into the right side of the car.

‘’What am I supposed to drive you because I’m your assistant?’’

Hershel popped his head out of the window and furrowed his brows.

‘’France my dear Clive. They drive on the wrong side of the road, remember?’’

Clive pouted, unable to hide his embarrassment before taking his spot in the passenger seat.

* * *

_Meanwhile back at the mansion_

Desmond walked into the house with a grumpy expression; half-expecting some french girl to lie her way into the grand mansion.

‘’Oh. Uhm, bonjour ?’’

He turned in the kitchen and met eyes with the unknown stranger.

‘’Hello. You don’t happen to speak English now do you?’’ Desmond asked, ready to pull out his worst french if needed.

‘’Oh thank god, everyone speaks English here.’’ the girl sighed.

Desmond raised an eyebrow at the american accent. Just who was this girl and why was she claiming to be their cousin? Flora in the meantime, outstretched her hand to the man in front of her.

‘’Flora Reinhold. Nice to meet you.’’

‘’Wait… You’re Flora?’’

‘’Y...es? You know my name?’’

She tilted her head in confusion, her big eyes following him and her ponytail falling to the side of her shoulder.

‘’Er...my brother mentioned it.’’

Desmond wasn’t sure how much the girl knew, but he was certain it would be more fun to leave the revelations to Hershel. He leaned against the kitchen sink and eyed her from top to bottom. One thing that stood out immediately, was her nose. It was almost uncanny how much it looked like uncle Andrew’s.

‘’Your...brother?’’

‘’The stuck up lawyer with the depressed stare. Brown hair, bad mood and even worse attitude.’’ Desmond smirked.

‘’Ah! Hershel you mean!’’ Flora beamed almost a little too gleefully to his liking.

‘’Yep. That’s him. I’m Desmond by the way.’’ he said after finally taking her hand.

‘’Nice to meet you Desmond!’’

‘’Let me show you around.’’ Desmond said with the most customer service friendly smile he could manage.

Flora followed the new host around the house, not sure what the two brothers were upto; nor where her supposed father actually was.

* * *

Clive had been chatting Hershel’s ears off about the beauty of France and the delicious wine he would love to taste and the beautiful people and the swim in the pool he was going to take and the wind and the sun and every little thing he saw and thought of. Hershel was close to stopping the ‘’car’’ to kick him out, but thankfully, the estate approached. 

‘’Wow. That’s not just any chalet Hersh.’’

‘’No it’s...nice. Although not quite as brilliant as it used to be.’’

It was true. The glory days from before were certainly long gone. Uncle Andrew would be ashamed… Hershel figured that it might actually not be the worse idea to fix things up a little for the sale. If… that was still happening at least. Now that he had assembled a little crew, that might actually work out. They got out of the citroën, Clive loudly admiring the ‘’castle of dreams’’ as he called it. Hershel figured it would be best to walk in from the side to avoid any confrontation for now, since his headache was starting to protrude quite fiercely. Clive followed happily, noting every little detail he found appealing on the way, which he found a lot. 

‘’What happened to the diving board?’’

Hershel looked over at the pool and chuckled softly, reminded of the ordeal from the other day that he had yet to settle with the beauty from Cerris.

‘’We’ll fix it.’’

‘’Alright. Wait _we?_ Hershel, we?’’


	10. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing has become increasingly harder to do so...sorry that this is kind of a short chapter.

Hershel marched inside with the face of the most troubled man in France. Hoping that at least his dear brother had not abandoned the girl so she would be left to wander the estate, he hastily looked around. Clive followed silently for once; taking in the environment and everything that came along with it. The smell, the feel, the taste of the air. It was all new to the born and raised city boy. He secretly wondered how a sour prune as Hershel Layton could have had a childhood within these warmly coloured walls.

‘’Where is that drunkard…’’ he heard his boss mumble.

He wondered what old french bugger he had forced into labour around these parts, but found himself surprised when a ‘’younger’’ man appeared in one of the doorways.

‘’My dearest Hershel, you never told me our supposed niece was such a delight. Did you know she has spend most of her life travelling america together with her mother?’’ the man with the red-rimmed glasses said.

Hershel pinched the bridge between his brows, something he often did, and shook his head.

‘’Since I only spent around 10 seconds with the girl, I did not.’’

‘’Hm. Shame. Now, who is this?’’

A chill ran over Clive’s spine as the man gave him a look down from top to bottom.

‘’Seems...a little young now doesn’t he?’’

‘’Excuse me?’’ Clive asked, a little offended by the question.

Hershel strangely grinned at the other man, not answering him.

‘’Ugh. He’s way too young. Why do you have to bully me like this? I did you a favour you know?’’

‘’And I am forever grateful. Now Desmond, where is Flora exactly?’’

‘’I’m here!’’ a feminine voice rang out from behind the man called Desmond.

Hershel sighed relieved. Thank god, at least he didn’t mess this up.

‘’Introductions are in order I suppose.’’ he turned back to his assistant. ‘’This here is my brother Desmond. Don’t pay him any mind.’’

‘’Hey.’’ 

‘’And the girl behind him is Flora. She...has only just arrived as well.’’

‘’And I might also be family!’’ Flora beamed from underneath Desmond’s arm.

Clive awkwardly waved at the ‘’Family’’ before reminding himself that he is not one to be out theatered. He bowed deeply with every bit of pizzazz he could manage.

‘’Thank you for allowing me to stay in your  _ humble  _ abode. My name is Clive Dove. I am mister Layton’s assistant and,’’— he raised his head to smile charmingly in their direction. —‘’Best friend.’’

‘’Since when…’’ Hershel sighed.

‘’I like this one.’’ Desmond nodded approvingly.

Hershel was sure this would only spell out chaos in his future.

‘’Now that we are all acquainted, I would like to inform you of my plans.’’ Hershel said while taking a seat at the kitchen table.

The rest joined him, some curious, while others just bored. The bored one being Desmond. Hershel explained to them that the house is in dire state, in need of some extreme fixing if they were to keep Andrew’s legacy up. It was honestly a whole lot of bullcrap wrapped in an inspiring monologue, but this was something Hershel seemed to specialise in. Flora listened with curious questions plaguing her mind. She wondered why exactly they had to keep up her father’s legacy. Wouldn’t he be here himself to keep it up? Something wasn’t right… After Hershel was done with his ‘’rousing’’ speech, Flora finally spoke up.

‘’Hershel, might I have a word?’’

Hershel looked at her, blinking a couple of times in confusion, when the realisation hit him. He forgot he still needed to tell her about Andrew’s unfortunate timing. This would not be good. He looked to Desmond, who very subtly shook his head. Hershel was going to have to be the one to do it.

‘’Let’s walk for a bit. Desmond, Clive, why don’t you two start with cleaning this kitchen.’’

‘’I literally just got here!’’ Clive said in an angry tone.

‘’Isn’t he a delight to be around.’’ Desmond smirked to Clive while slouching back in his seat.

Before any other clever remarks were thrown his way, Hershel and Flora left in the direction of the backyard. He figured he might as well show her the vineyard, since it had been one of uncle Andrew’s favourite places. 

‘’So..’’ Flora started.

‘’So.’’ Hershel mimicked.

‘’My father isn’t here anymore, is he?’’

Hershel could feel his chest clench. They walked down a beaten dirt path in the direction of the vineyard; the smell of the morning dew activating the pores of the leaves combined with the stunning view of the sun reflected on the drops on the grapes. It honestly was one of his favourite places as well. Especially on the chilly mornings, when Anton started checking all of the stems and uncle Andrew would make fun of him in whispers from afar. When his eyes would feel tired, but his soul would be brimming with newfound energy. When life was less difficult and decisions could be postponed until the afternoon. 

‘’I’m afraid...he isn’t.’’ he finally answered when they reached the first row of vines.

Flora squatted down and brushed the leaves with the tips of her fingers.

‘’How?’’

‘’Problems with his heart.’’

‘’When?’’

‘’...2 weeks ago.’’

Flora got up and sighed a heavy sigh. Even if Hershel didn’t want to believe her to be Andrew’s daughter, he still felt bad for the girl. How unfortunate must one be, to finally see their father for the first time in their life, to find that he has passed away only several weeks before. She must be devastated…

‘’What kind of wine did he make?’’

The question caught him off guard. She started walking through the small pathway in between the vines with a straight face. He wasn’t sure what she was thinking.

‘’Erm, reds mostly. The house wine is absolutely dreadful.’’ he chuckled sheepishly, unsure why she changed the subject.

‘’Hmph. Bringing womenfolk over now?’’

Hershel’s shoulders tensed when the elder man’s voice echoed behind him. He turned around and met with an equally sour expression as his own.

‘’This is...my guest.’’ Hershel tried, not sure if he should enclose the details of her visit.

Flora in the meantime, marched up to the grouchy individual with an outstretched hand. Anton smiled a half smile and eyed the female with curiosity before taking her hand.

‘’Anton Cœur, vigneron.’’

‘’Flora Reinhold, illegitimate daughter.’’

Hershel was sure he would have given himself a mark if he slapped his forehead as hard as he wanted to at that moment.

‘’Illegitimate… you are Andrew’s…bon sang.’’ (oh wow)

‘’Yes, ahem, well, let’s not jump to conclusions shall we. Flora, why don’t you get settled. I’m sure you must be tired after your long journey.’’ Hershel gently pushed the girl in the direction of the house.

‘’Oh yeah, sure!’’ Flora beamed at him, almost blinding him with her dazzling smile.

And with that, she left, leaving behind a slightly frustrated Hershel and a very confused Anton. When she was out of harm's way, Anton turned to Hershel abruptly with a fierce stare.

‘’His daughter! A daughter! How did he never tell us about this?! What is the meaning of this?!’’

He was upset. Very upset.

‘’I’m not sure myself.’’ Hershel once again lied. ‘’She might not actually be his daughter though.’’

‘’Have you seen her nose! Of course she is!’’

He couldn’t retaliate. He was right. There was a positively striking similarity.

‘’Just… get your act together.’’ Anton huffed before marching off.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
